


give my gun away when it's loaded

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Gen, Introspection, Suicidal Thoughts, arent i just a ray of sunshine, possibly a second chapter???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5502587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it’s like this: he doesn’t know why.</p><p>he doesn’t know why he can’t get out of bed sometimes. he doesn’t know why he can’t sleep some nights or why he sleeps too much, why he can’t keep time straight and why mondays feel like thursdays or the evening feels like three in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. leave me out with the waste

**Author's Note:**

> _all i do is write introspective venty skeleton angst!!!!_

 

(.i.)

it’s like this: it started early. 

this thing, whatever he has going on, it started before everything. before the kid came, before the resets, way way back to a time he doesn’t remember super clearly anymore because layers of timelines have clouded his memories. 

it started early, not as bad, not as heavy, but he didn’t even have a reason (because at least he has an excuse for being so this now). he never has a very good reason. 

and he thinks he used to be not so _this,_ not so useless and tired, when he and pap were growing up, when pap would bring him cups of hot chocolate late at night before one of sans’ tests (he went to college, got a phd, graduated a year or two earlier than most actually, because back then he actually tried, actually thought, and pap had been _so_ proud of him). 

when time was still moving the linear way it should be, when christmas came yearly instead of not at all. 

he used to be not so this. 

he used to be better. he used to be better than this.

back when he had _potential!!!_ when he could do _so much if he just tried enough!!!!_ when he was the _‘smarter one’_ the center of _that person’s_ attention, pushed too far pain in his eye too much the room in chaos and that person _staring_ like he’d just had a breakthrough like he wasn’t in _pain help goddammit!!!_

when he took pap and left and who was _that person??_ he doesn’t remember, and he remembers too much. sometimes he doesn’t remember the name and sometimes it drills into his skull over and over again gaster gaster _gaster_ , his words and his crooked smile and his _please forget about me_ ’s. 

he doesn’t really know what to do about gaster and he’s not sure who he was to him exactly, name scribbled across his notes on various pages like it’s important, so he pushes him to the back of his mind and tries to ‘please forget about him’ like he was told to.

it’s hard to forget about something when you want to. 

(.ii.)

it’s also like this: he doesn’t know why. 

he doesn’t know why he can’t get out of bed sometimes. he doesn’t know why he can’t sleep some nights or why he sleeps too much, why he can’t keep time straight and why mondays feel like thursdays or the evening feels like three in the morning. 

he doesn’t know why he can’t eat sometimes or talk sometimes or why it takes him an hour to get dressed sometimes but he _does_ know why he wakes up screaming sometimes and why pap is worried about him the next morning sometimes and why he feels like he’s suffocating sometimes. 

he doesn’t know what to do about it. he doesn’t know if there’s anything to do about it. 

and he’s just so tired. a part of him wishes he could just… disappear? fade away, maybe. sleep for the rest of his life. maybe just stop existing?? 

be erased from time along with everyone’s memories of him so that pap wouldn’t be sad and nobody would miss him and the world could keep on turning like it should. 

(he never mentions these things out loud. they’re just passing thoughts that he dwells on too long, just for him, some sort of twisted comfort.)

he’s just. he’s just so tired. 

(.iii.)

(another thing, at the beginning: “ok but dude, i just had the _weirdest_ dream.”

papyrus stops halfway out the bedroom door and glances back curiously. 

“What was it about?”

sans opens his mouth, but “…actually?” he blinks; his head feels fuzzy, “i don’t really remember. something about a human, i think?”

pap’s eyebrows shoot up in that way that means he has something loud to say and he grins excitedly, “Obviously, it was a dream about me _capturing_ a human, don’t you think?” 

sans smiles, something small and fond and nods, “yeah, that was probably it.” 

papyrus looks sans up and down, seems to consider something, and than says, “Well, you have to see how it ends now! I want to know if I look cool in royal guard armor.” 

sans grins in pleasant surprise. “alright, i’ll do that.” and promptly rolls over. “thanks pap. you’re the best.” 

“I know.” 

the door shuts softly.) 

(.iv.)

it’s somewhere in between when papyrus gets his sentry job and the kid shows up that sans realizes: his little brother is growing up. 

his little brother is suddenly the taller brother, nagging him to pick up his mess and pulling him out of bed in the morning and doing all the things sans is supposed to be doing. 

his little brother is growing up and he’s growing up so well, he couldn’t be prouder, it settles comfortably into his soul and spreads through his bones, and he knows none of it is him— it’s all papyrus. sans barely did anything. got them a house and sent pap to school and dressed up as santa and that’s about it. 

he’s growing up and it’s in the middle of everything that sans realizes: his little brother… doesn’t really need him anymore. not the way he used to, back when sans was working three jobs to keep their house. if anything, sans is the one who needs papyrus. 

his little brother is growing up and he’s growing up so well. he’s meant for bigger and better things, and sans knows he’ll make it wherever he wants to go. papyrus is meant for so much more than him and sans doesn’t know if he wants to beg him to stay or tell him to go for it (he’ll always tell him to go for it because pap doesn’t deserve to be stuck keeping his big brother company any longer than he has to; sans will not beg him to stay; he doesn’t know what he would do if pap did stay). 

papyrus doesn’t need him anymore, and he doesn’t know whether he feels relieved or terrified.

(.v.)

one day he finds himself on the edge of papyrus’ bridge. the long wooden one with the rope handles, standing on the other side of those rope handles. the side he probably shouldn’t be on. 

not really doing anything, just… standing. not really sure when he got there, the world white noise around him. 

just walking, back and forth. twisting back around on an unsteady leg and shifting his weight so he doesn’t fall. it’s a lot windier than he remembers it being when he slipped under the rope, and it whips through his jacket and grazes his skull and he’s not sure why he’s here, really, why he came, but it’s sort of exhilarating, the way the toes of his shoes stick off the edge and the way the wood creaks underneath him. 

it’s exhilarating, with a strange sense of adrenaline fueled freedom, the way he lifts a shaky leg like he’s testing his balance, sticks it out into the air over the edge and wonders just what would happen if he leaned forward and slipped off. how long the fall would be. whether or not it would hurt too much. how the cold wind would feel on the way down. 

and for one tiny moment, he realizes how _easy_ it would be— he’s already here, the perfect setup, one minuscule movement and that would be it, it would be _so easy_ —

“sans?”

he jumps, spinning around and nearly losing his balance for real this time and realizing he really doesn’t want to because: there is papyrus. 

he regrets leaving the house today.

“o-oh,” he stutters quickly, like he isn’t a few inches from a long long fall, “hey, pap.”

“What… what are you doing?” there’s an edge to his voice that cuts him worse than the biting wind, something small and confused and scared and here is his little brother walking towards him like he’s afraid he might startle with a look on his face that sans put there, his fault. 

“uh— nothing, really,” he forces a shrug, “as usual.”

“Why are you…?” and he sounds so bewildered, looking back and forth between sans and the empty air a few inches to the left of him, (and why is he standing here? sans wonders himself, and doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t really have a reason.)

“just… just bored, i guess. i don’t know.” he can’t meet his brother’s eyes. it’s not a real answer.

slowly, he ducks down and pops back up on the other side. 

he doesn’t know why he’s like this and doesn’t know why he’s here, just that he was so close and it might’ve been right in front of papyrus, right in front of his baby brother, and that thought is enough to send a wave of red hot guilt and shame through him. he feels really tired. pap puts his hands on his shoulders and pulls him very slowly against his chest.

“i’m sorry,” sans says; he’s not sure what for, “i’m sorry.” 

they stay there for a very long time. 

(.0.)

it’s like this: sans thinks that there is something wrong with him. 

it’s like this: he doesn’t know why. 

it’s like this. 

 

 


	2. it's a small crime, and i've got no excuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is something wrong with your brother.
> 
> You’re not stupid- a bit naïve maybe, according to some, but not stupid. You’re a lot smarter than many people give you credit for, and sans knows this better than anyone— he was the one who told you over and over again when you were both younger. You’re not stupid, so you know that something is wrong."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow turned into second person?? tbh i can't write pap to save my life, but i tried my best.
> 
> thank you for all the positive feedback! and to anyone that mentioned that they could relate, i rlly hope you're doin ok

 

(.I.)

There is something wrong with your brother.

You’re not stupid- a bit naïve maybe, according to some, but not stupid. You’re a lot smarter than many people give you credit for, and sans knows this better than anyone— he was the one who told you over and over again when you were both younger. You’re not stupid, so you know that something is wrong.

There is something wrong with the lazy grins he always gives you, and something off about the way his jokes roll off his tongue.

There is something wrong with your brother.

You just don’t know _what._

(.II.)

One morning, it takes sans far too long to get out of bed.

Which isn’t really a new thing, but it’s never been like… this, before. You’ve never walked in to see him just staring at the wall, jacket limply in his hands like he’d forgotten what he was doing halfway through the task (which, admittedly, also isn’t really a new thing), looking sadder than you’ve seen him in a long time.

You stand in his doorway for two whole minutes before he notices that you’re there, blinking himself out of his daze.

“sorry,” he says, grinning halfheartedly, “guess i’m just _bone-tired.”_

It’s forced, and stale, but you play along and groan and tell him to get his bony butt out of bed because you don’t know what else to do.

(You find him staring at a tree later that day with the same empty glaze to his eyes.

You tell him to stop napping, even though he wasn’t asleep. He seems grateful.)

(.III.)

Your brother dreams. He has bad dreams. Nightmares. It’s always been a thing, these dreams of his- when you were younger, he had dreams about imaginary creatures under his bed and the scary stories about humans the older folks around town would tell. Lately, though, you don’t know what he dreams about.

It must be something bad, for all the times you’ve heard him in the middle of the night through the wall that separates your bedrooms (you don’t need very much sleep- you’re practically never tired, so you spend most of the night staring at the ceiling and telling yourself stories, thinking about things, listening to the ragged breaths of your brother as he jerks awake and calms himself down).

You want to help, but you know sans likes his privacy, and you respect his boundaries. His breath always evens out eventually, though you’re not sure whether or not he goes back to sleep. (You wonder if maybe that’s why he takes so many naps all the time.)

You respect his boundaries, but one night he wakes up screaming. The kind of screaming that shakes you to your core when you realize it’s someone you care about.

The part that scares you the most, when you throw open his door and see him curled up on his bed with his eye flashing blue and head in his shaking hands, is that he doesn’t seem to see you.

He looks right _through_ you, doesn’t seem to know you’re there at all, and sans has _never_ not seen you before.

You’re almost afraid to touch him, and when you do, he startles, flinching violently and looking up at you with wide, scared eyes that you’ve never seen on him before.

And you think the expression on his face when he looks at you- the raw shock, like he’s looking at a ghost, like he hasn’t seen you in years- almost scares you more than when he couldn’t see you at all.

“oh my god,” he breathes, “i thought you were— oh my god, _papyrus,_ ” and he collapses against you, all quivering bones and almost sobs.

“It’s… it’s okay, brother,” you say quietly, “You’re okay, I’m fine, you’re safe.”

He’s grasping at your oversized t-shirt like it’s the one thing keeping him together.

You wish you could scare his nightmares away, like he used to do for you. You wish you knew what he dreams about.

You wish you knew how to help.

(.IV.)

He doesn’t try as much as he used to. You know this for a fact because when you were still in school he worked a bunch of different jobs, and when he went to college he stayed up all night doing his fancy science stuff more often than was probably healthy. You admired him for it, for all his determination, for how much he tried.

sans doesn’t try as much as he used to. You aren’t sure why. You think maybe all the work he did when you were younger sort of balances out and gives him an excuse to not work now, but you’re pretty sure that’s not the whole reason.

He just… doesn’t seem to have any motivation. For anything, really.

You try your best to keep him motivated- you pull him out of bed every morning, you make him get his sentry job, you send him out on errands- because you owe him so much and you don’t want to see him sleep his life away.

“What would you do without a cool brother like me around?” you say one day. You think you know exactly what he would do without a cool brother like you around, and you think he knows too.

You try not to think about it.

(.V.)

The day you find him on the bridge is the day you feel your soul freeze over.

He’s not doing anything, just… walking back and forth, spinning around, _sticking his leg out over the edge on a whim like a child testing his balance._

You aren’t stupid. You know what will happen if he shifts his weight even a little bit. You aren’t stupid, you just don’t know _why_ , and you feel something like panic and _fear_ shoot through your body when he wobbles.

When he says he’s doing ‘nothing really, as usual,’ you feel something in your nonexistent stomach drop, and when he says that he doesn’t know either, doesn’t know why he’s standing on the edge of the bridge, you feel it drop farther.

And when you pull him against your chest, protectively, bewildered, he is shaking against you and apologizing, and you don’t think he knows exactly what he’s apologizing for.

Neither do you.

You were so close to watching your brother fall off your favorite bridge.

You don’t know what to do.

(.0.)

There is something wrong with your brother.

You’re not stupid- a bit naïve maybe, according to some, but not stupid. You’re a lot smarter than many people give you credit for, and sans knows this better than anyone— he was the one who told you over and over again when you were both younger. You’re not stupid, so you know that something is wrong.

This boy, with the thin, too-wide smiles and the too-light tone with his too-frequent jokes, with tired tired eyes, who looks at you like you’re a ghost sometimes, who blinks out of a daze in the middle of the day, who wakes up frantically in the middle of the night sometimes- this is not the brother you know.

This is not _sans,_ this is not your laid back, lazy, funny, kind brother. You don’t know what happened, and you don’t know how to make it right.

You don’t know how to put the glint back into his eyes or the happy edge back into his smile.

There is something wrong with your brother. 

You just don’t know what.

 

 


End file.
